


Taras University; A Modern SolavellanAU

by solasharel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age AU, Modern AU, Professor AU, University AU, phd student au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solasharel/pseuds/solasharel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU:  Lavellan is a PhD student offered a place at the University of Tarasyl'an, or Taras for short.  There she is thrust together with Professor Fenn, her tutor and Faculty Dean of Arts.  Adventures ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taras University; A Modern SolavellanAU

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive the terrible title, it's a working one.  
> I don't own any of the characters, I'm just writing fan fiction with them.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my good friend Iva, whose blog you can find on tumblr @ solas-broke-my-heart!

_Breathe, Lavellan, you’ve already got the position.  Just keep cool and try not to break anything._

Her satchel dug into her thigh with every step through the university halls, her pace trying to meet the strict schedule she had been handed at the Reception desk.  She looked at the first appointment on the list again, just to be sure.  

 

  * 08:30 - _Meeting with Vice Chancellor De Fer, et al._

  * 08:45 - _Introductions: Art Faculty - Campus Staff_




She glanced at her watch, a vintage rose-gold piece from the 50’s her grandmother had bequeathed to her.  The baying wolf image on the face of the clock had its nose pointed to twelve.  The large hand was just past the six.  She was late already.  She shoved the itinerary back into the satchel and sprinted down the hallway to what she hoped was the right office.  

Skidding to a halt outside, she peeked into the tiny window and saw some figures waiting around a conference table.  She knew one of the faces to be that of Ms. De Fer.  Her eyes spotted Lavellan’s, and she waved her in.  

 

“I’m s-so sorry I’m late, the bus-” she began, but was silenced with a look from the Vice Chancellor.  

 

“Do not worry, dear, these things happen.  So long as you don’t make a consistent issue of it,” she paused, gesturing to a row of empty seats opposite her, “I am sure we shall get along greatly.”

 

Lavellan slid into a chair and took a moment to look across the table.  Ms. De Fer was seated in the centre of two other figures, looking every part the academic.  Her hair was cut short, nails immaculately clean and long, and her shirt had to be tailored.  She screamed money, fashion, aspiration.  The woman to her right appeared foreign, Spanish or Italian maybe, her hair coiffed back into a chignon with a flower tucked in at an angle.  Her smile was warm, and she wondered if hers was the voice that had called to congratulate her on her acceptance into the PhD program.  To the Vice Chancellor’s left sat a man, far different in appearance to his colleagues.  He barely acknowledged her, his glasses seated low on the bridge of his nose.  He looked older than his peers, partly to the way he dressed, she believed.  His clothes looked as though they were the second of three outfits, heavily worn and faded at the elbows.  His sweater vest stood to use some expensive fabric conditioner.  Or a bin.  

 

“It is a pleasure to welcome you to our University program, Ms. Lavellan.  I have to say personally that your thesis on Song Dynasty urns and Last Rites was fascinating.  How you choose to progress your studies with us will no doubt benefit us both.”  As Ms. De Fer spoke, the woman to her right began to write notes furiously.  The man paid little to no attention to her speech.  

“Allow me to introduce two esteemed members of my staff here at the University.  As you are no doubt aware, I am Vice Chancellor De Fer.  You may call me Madame De Fer, if it suits you.  I find it rolls slightly easier on the tongue.  This charming lady is Professor Montilyet, lecturer in International Studies and our on-site counsellor.  If there is anything you need to know - staff meetings, events and functions, that sort of thing - she will be happy to help you.  This gentleman here,” she gestured to the man at her right , “is your tutor.  Professor Fenn is the Faculty leader for the Arts, and lectures in Art History.  I am sure his reputation precedes him, and requires no explanation of his qualifications, but like you he is new to our staffing this year.  Should you have any concerns or questions regarding your course material or resources, you may defer to him.”  

 

Professor Fenn looked up at the mention of his name, but made no indication of his opinion of Lavellan one way or the other.  She noticed that he was tugging idly at a leather cord around his neck when he caught sight of her staring and tucked it underneath his collar.  

 

“Any questions, dear?”

“No, Vice- I mean, Madame De Fer, that’s all for now.”  Lavellan fidgeted with her satchel, rolling one of the straps on the front between her fingers.  She swore for a moment she saw the Professor’s eyes on her hands, but when she looked up, he was already rising from the table.  She followed suit, fishing the schedule back out of her bag to check the room number.  Judging by her new tutor’s attitude, this was going to be a long day.  

 

When she peeked inside of Room A-102 there were only a few people gathered.  She gently tiptoed around the door, but instantly felt eyes trained on her.

“You must be that new girl.. Lavellan, isn’t it?  The name’s Dorian, Dorian Pavus.  I’m a PhD student, too.  My studies are in Literature - Shakespeare and the Homosexual Deviant.  You can imagine how well that thesis went down at home.”  The man speak to her was unlike anyone she had met so far that morning.  He was bold, honest-looking.  His hair was perfectly styled, clipped short at the sides, his clothes rocking a taste she wasn’t sure there was a word for.  She was sure she could see eyeliner under his lashes.  Either way, she already knew they would get along famously.  

“That’s me,” she almost whispered, “I’m Lavellan.  I’m guessing you’ve already seen Madame De Fer?”  The young man let out a guffaw.

“She’s got you calling her that as well, has she?  Don’t believe everything she says - that woman’s stabbed more backs than I’ve read books.”  He scanned her quickly, eyes wandering up and down.  “Say, do you shop a lot?  I could have sworn I’ve seen a skirt just like that in my mother’s-”

“Give the girl a chance, yeah?  She’s still got the bloody door open!”  There was an accent she recognised.  London, West by the tone.  She peeked around her fellow PhD student and saw a sight she didn’t expect to find.  The girl was small, about as short as she, with a shocking mix of colours in her hair.  It looked home-dyed, rough with the roots showing, but suited her.  Her Doc Marten books were rested on the desk in front of her, one stacked upon the other.  She stood up and joined Dorian’s side.

 

“Are you studying here as well?”  Lavellan asked.  Somehow she knew she was not going to get a straight answer.

“You what?  Me?  Yeah, and I’m the Maker’s butt-wiper while I’m at it.  What I do isn’t important.  But if anyone asks, you didn’t see me, got it?”  With that the girl left the room and slid down to stair railing to the floors below.  

 

“Don’t mind Sera, she’s a little theatrical sometimes.  It’s a shame she’s not actually in the Drama group, I’m sure that the Crows could use someone with her talents.  I am sorry if I spoke out of line earlier by the way, your clothes are fine, if not just a little… vintage.”  He offered his hand and Lavellan shook it.

 

“It’s fine Dorian.  I don’t get a lot of time in one place, so I travel light.  This is the first time I’ll be rooted somewhere for a few years.”  She tugged at the sleeve of her cardigan, suddenly embarrassed for her worn leather boots.  She wasn’t going to tell him about the hole in the heel, he’d probably drag her to town right then.  

 

“Oh really, you’ve travelled?  I’ve been a few places myself.  Of course, my family would rather I hadn’t.  Still, I’m here and I don’t see them coming to get me any time soon, so it looks like we’re stuck with each other.  What did you say you were studying again?”  

 

“I hadn’t,” she smirked.  She was actually making a good impression, for once.

“But since you’re interested, I’m writing a thesis on the History of Chinese Glazing Techniques.”

 

“Oh, ceramics?  Then you must have Professor Fenn?  Oh, I’ve heard some interesting tales about him.  Do you know he’s had the wildest past?  I’ve heard rumours he was in a protest for social activism and-”

 

“And what, Master Pavus?”  The voice rang clear and low through the room, immediately silencing the gossiping student.  She turned to see the aforementioned professor in the doorway, staring Dorian into submission.  He moved almost silently to the desk at the head of the class space, and seated himself, flipping open a laptop and connecting it to the interactive board that hung on the wall behind him.  

“Since it is not actually the start of the semester until tomorrow, I shall not set about lecturing you in lesson manners, but see to it that future conversations are made well outside of campus?”  

Dorian nodded in understanding, silent as the grave.  Thankfully the tension was eased by students pouring into the room, all taking places at the desks behind them.  She and Dorian seated themselves at the back, with her taking a chair beside the window.  Looking out she could see the University was perched on a hill, the buildings sloping down behind her.  Across from her block was the campus Chantry, stained glass dim from the outside.  A lone cherry tree was planted beside it.  Dorian nudged her and she saw several staff members stood beside the still-seated professor.  He had returned to his default bored expression.  She wondered if he had ever experienced an emotion beyond disdain.  The lady at the centre of the team spoke first.  She was tall, tanned, with eyes that told of a long and painful history.  A woman who was not afraid to speak her mind, or loudly.

 

“Welcome, all of you to Sky’s Hold Academy and the University of Tarasylan.  You can simply call it Taras’, it proves more popular among your generation.  My name is Professor Pentaghast.  I am the Dean of Humanities and one of the founding members of this institution.  My Faculty houses Religion, of which I am also Head of Department, as well as History, which is headed by my esteemed colleague Professor Blackwall.”  

The man to her left crossed his arms over his barrel chest and grunted, silver-black beard obscuring half his face.  Professor Pentaghast continued.

“The Faculty of Sciences is led by Professor Nightingale, who teaches Human Biology at our laboratory block on campus.  The Faculty also includes ‘Coach’ Hassrath, who couldn’t be here with us now but I’m sure you will meet around the campus.”  

Professor Nightingale was slender, stern-looking.  She looked like she knew fifty ways to kill a man without touching him.

“Professor Tethras is Head of Business, a new Faculty for the University but one I am sure will thrive.  Professor Rutherford is the Dean of Social Sciences, where he teaches Law.  His colleague is Professor Montilyet, who I am sure you have all met, although she, too, is absent.  She oversees our International Studies course.”  

The two remaining male professors raised their hand in greeting, neither having much to say.  Professor Tethras was short, stocky, and had a cocky grin.  His would have been a fun course, she knew it, if she were only interested in running a company.  The Law Professor, on the other, seemed totally out of his depth.  His cheeks were pink with nerves and he tugged at the back of his shirt collar to breathe cool air down his back.  Not what she would have expected in someone lecturing such a cut-throat career.

Professor Pentaghast closed her introductions with a sweeping gesture to Professor Fenn.

 

“Lastly, our new Faculty Dean of Arts.  Professor Fenn comes to us this year as a new start to this University, so please make him welcome.”  There was a short round of applause from the students towards the front, followed by an awkward silence.  Professor Fenn stood up from his seat, and gave a cursory speech.

“Thank you, the pleasure is mine.  I look forward to educating you all.  I can only hope that you are as willing to learn as I am to teach.”  

With that, he sat once more behind the desk, fingers tugging at the leather cord under his shirt.

 

“I wonder what’s on that necklace,” Lavellan wondered aloud.

“Necklace?  Oh, Fenn?  Maker only knows with him.  All I know is that it must be important.  A man like that is all about hidden meanings,” Dorian whispered back.  Lavellan considered his words for a few moments, watching the other professors file back out of the classroom.  Behind them trailed a few students eager to find their friends outside the Faculty.  

 

“So if Professor Fenn is tutoring me, who’s going to tutor you?”  She asked.

“Oh, that’s going to be Tethras,” Dorian smirked.  

“Why on earth would the Business Dean be tutoring you in English?”  

“Because he’s an International Bestseller, of course.  Who better?  Come on, I could use some lunch.  Sera’s probably raided a dumpster outside the canteen or something.”  With that he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards the door.  She swung back to catch the lecturer side-eyeing her.

 

“See you tomorrow, Professor Fenn.”  She called back before disappearing into the hallway.  She hadn’t the chance to capture his look of curiosity about the girl.

 


End file.
